His Hearse, Her HymnHimHis Hearse, Her Hymn1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
You asked me why I don't believe in honesty
with henna-hands undressing our hips.
I told you—
—told you that a confession is an embalming:
the truth has died but hasn't been laid to rest.
You ask why I don't believe in honesty.
It is because honesty makes for better liars
and homeless poets.
liars have all the beautiful words.
the sunsets exploding within their throats
indicative of someone who’s entertained
too many dusty nightmares;
the truth is,
you were not cut out for this;
you’ve the heart of a child and
the eyes of the dis-eased—
—but I would love your every
vulnerability if you let me into
the brittle hollows of your bones.
Titles Don't Belong in the First LineTitles don’t belong in the first line,Titles Don't Belong in the First Line1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
and poetry is not made of end rhymes.
The ventilated fluorescence and I
flicker at the incongruence
and I want to tell her
sometimes east is left
on the map
if you hold it right.
The Daily Sentence ProjectShe shifts her thighs to the same anglesThe Daily Sentence Project2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
where tectonic plates exchange glances.
The infant in her arms coos in haiku,
the phone crouching on her shoulder
barking in blank verse and bank terms;
where has the affection been displaced?
Perhaps the both of them are three full-
time jobs past romance and two cases
of chickenpox past the seven-year-itch
to be able to tell that dishwater softens
and oatmeal baths becalm their hands.
The kitchen tile is a haphazardous haven
for cloven shoes. She prefers slip-ons.
Traditional art related articles - FeaturedTraditional art related articles - Featured1 year ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
Why Women Turn To FeminismBecause you do not love usWhy Women Turn To Feminism7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as we want to love ourselves.
Because of the scarlet letters
you embroider on our chests
as we sleep on yours.
Because you pull the pigtails from puberty
and squeeze mothers and prostitutes
from the girls we really are.
Because Disney fooled us:
we awoke, sweet-sixteen, embittered
with no kiss, no carriage, no prince.
Because the heroines of our youth taught us
the plastic passivity of our sex.
Because we couldn't be factory-made beauty too.
Because we have spent too long courting tears
and making life-rafts of our pillows.
Because we want the power to reject
our presence, our affection - even our indifference
and not feel our hearts unbeating because of this.
Because, in feminism, we find the fairy Godmother
we were always denied by being real - but constructed.
The Imperfection of Style 1. IntroductionThe Imperfection of Style4 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
When you sit down to read a piece written by Baudelaire you do not expect Dickinson sentimentality, nor a Shakespearean wit or Poe's possessiveness with phonetically eeriness. You do expect a Baudelaire experience. But what is a Baudelaire experience? What makes Baudelaire a Baudelaire in comparison with Poe - is it the tonality, details, sentiment, or maybe the vocabulary, sentence construct or themes; Might it be the concepts, or maybe a certain point of view or an angle? Can you create your own style by analytical and critical thinking, learning the hypothetical curve and scale of those degrees, or by comparing different styles and reaching a sort of virginity in style, that which is uniquely you. Who is that which you describe through your style if not a human being, the imperfect creature of them all, and can we, by describing the imperfect, reach perfection?
The chase for Perfection in the creative and artistic world became an
A Shoe TaleA Shoe Tale2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Mister Lacey and miss Ribbon were a pair of red shiny shoes living in a boxful of dreams, on cloud-coated linens. One May day, a little girl found them sleeping next to each other, and she loved them so much that she took them out for an afternoon walk, sometimes tituppy, sometimes gingerly, on the sundressed alleys. Mister Lacey and miss Ribbon were cheerful, as they had never breathed such a crisp air before, and the chill of those spring days, after a good sturdy rain, was daintly tickling their soles, growing goosebumps on their skin.
The little girl was bursting with fidgetness. When she stopped to bathe in a tiny oasis, she briskly took off her shoes and left them on the dewy grass. Mister Lacey and miss Ribbon were slightly afraid, as gloomy spiders and frowning mosquitoes were tamelessly rumbling around them. They cuddled tightly, to make the fear go away, like salt in a desert storm. The fear started to vanish itself, as the two realized that they were not alone. They were a p
i will rest by the river and bloomi have eaten so many cherries i have lost count,i will rest by the river and bloom2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my fingers bundled up with their stems, my teeth aching.
with the fruit flesh still threaded around them, the seeds
look like little organs, little stone hearts:
i eat them all, every one. maybe they will hatch in my stomach
like bitter eggs, and a thousand hundred giant trees will
grow slowly though my bones and my bloodstream, maybe they will
burst up and out through my mouth. i will be a bleeding flowerpot,
a forest floor with shoes, an incubator. i will be the zombie
apocalypse of cherry trees. i will grow my wooden teeth through the roof.
my bad decisions will touch the sky.
the failed escape artistshe is a snowflake-skinned sighthe failed escape artist1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
floating on the winds of Eurus,
playing tic-tac-toe on her skin.
she always comes out the loser
standing on the road between
two worlds, she wonders when
she started to read the map wrong,
because this isn’t the
second star from the right.
she can burn the pictures,
but she can’t burn her memories.
and damn it,
her wanderlust is trying to
pull her up, up, and away
but the desolation is keeping
its slimy tentacle wrapped
around her ankle and
MasumiyetMasumiyet7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Tarihte Unutulmaz Kadınlar
Bu resim tamamlandığında öldürüldü
Dünya hukuk tarihinin en önemli davalarından biri kabul edilir Beatrice Cenci'nin davası. Beatrice'in talihsiz yaşamının ve öldürülüşünün yaklaşık 4 asırdır konuşulmasını sağlayan ise öldürülmeden 24 saat önce yapılan tablosudur.
Beatrice Cenci, Roma'nın en zengin ailesinin kızıydı. Babası Francesco Cenci iğrenç bir adamdı. Sayısız rezaletlerini, öz kızına tecavüze yeltenmeye kadar götürdü. Beatrice'in iki erkek kardeşi ve üvey annesi, Francesco Cenci'yi ortadan kaldırmayı planladı. Francesco, 9 Eylül 1598'de Napoli'de bir dağ başında ölü bulundu. İhtiyar adamı kimin öldürdüğü bili
.how to comfort someone.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
with an anxiety disorder:
tell them to
that they only panic
because they're just not
to handle themselves.
say that it's not
since it's not bad for you,
it can't be for
that's just how it works,
is my personal favorite.
because the one thing
that i want to hear
when i'm choking on my own sweat
is that i need to calm down.
HomonymsDarren was carefully pouring a jug of water into his biology textbook.Homonyms4 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
“What are you doing?” asked Miss Markham.
Darren looked up at his English teacher. “The exams are coming up soon, so I’m pouring over my books.”
Miss Markham sighed. “It’s not ‘pouring’, it’s ‘poring’.” She beckoned to Darren. “Come and take a walk with me, young man. You might learn something.”
Going down the lane, they came across a path leading away from the road. A young woman in a flamboyant white dress and an older man in a morning suit were just about to start hiking down it.
“Ah! Excellent—here’s a good example to begin with,” said Miss Markham to Darren.
She stopped and addressed the girl. “You know, this isn’t a bridal path. It’s a bridle path—for horses and their riders.”
“Oh…” said the bride. “You know, that does make
How I Fell Without Kissing the GroundThe stars do not watch over us like our mothers said they would. You will never be safe - the edge of a cliff will always be beneath your feet. The sea will devour your wishes and bury you in its waves. The tide will rise and so will you until your weight gives way and buries you within the fossils you once so fervently studied. You will always be falling into something that is not love.How I Fell Without Kissing the Ground1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
The sun and the moon know this, yet still they shine, always prouder and brighter than ever before.
This Is a LieI hope this will not sound bizarre in your ears: I wish I missed you like I did last winter. When we met, a candle appeared in my heart. The more I loved, the more it burned and the more it started destroying itself into a liquid form. As the months went on my candle never was replaced, neither did it stop burning. One early September, like a leaf about to kiss goodbye to its tree, it let its fire escape. And today, like last winter, I feel my burning passion dancing away into the night like the smoke bouncing off the wind’s melody. Slowly, tenderly, you fade away. I wish I missed you like I did last winter.This Is a Lie1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
AcceptanceI accept that i'm a loner,Acceptance2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I accept that I was a cutter.
I accept that I am different,
I accept that i'm not perfect.
I accept that I am confused,
I accept that I always get used.
I accept that I fall too hard,
I accept that I won't get far.
I accept that I live my life,
I accept that I threw away my knife.
I accept that I am unique,
I accept that I am me.
The Last DinosaurWas just a painting -The Last Dinosaur2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
splashes of color
put to a wide
empty canvas -
but what do I know?
with my tired eyes
was a child,
a mountaintop -
over a valley
where a gloomy
ice age had begun
to creep, to devour...
one of a kind,
tears of a kind
in my mind
Give the reptile
a human voice
you have Man.
We cry out
for many things-
and for love
our tired eyes
A human voice!
maybe a prayer
Vision is blurring
in the cold -
You Changed EverythingWaking up to see your faceYou Changed Everything2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Is my favorite way to start the day.
Knowing my reality is as good as a dream
Makes me grateful for how we got this way.
I was scared,
But I don't think you could tell.
I decided to take the plunge
And immediately, I fell.
Your arms feel like home.
Welcoming my body into a comforting embrace.
You've left an impression on my heart,
A permanent mark I can't erase.
We share each other's happiness
As well as the pain.
But we both remember what's important,
Like when we're kissing in the rain.
I was drowning,
And you brought me to safety.
I wasn't sure I was ready,
Then you changed everything.
Untitled VerseThere is not a placeUntitled Verse2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I would not show you
in all of my ordinary world...
Not one blade of grass,
not one solitary Starling,
not one fiery sunset
should be lost -
All of this
tied up to you somehow.
This was daytime
and I was alone.
Now, it is night.
There is not one bright star
or near winter constellation
I would not keep for you
or put it in your hands.
There is not one spot
in my shadowy corners
where you can not shine your light-
all there - my deepest thoughts,
my darkest designings,
my sweetest dreams - all there,
all tied up to you somehow.
In the light of day,
in university halls
and lofty institutions -
high minded men
write their books
or recite their poems,
educate us to think
and to show our brothers
that we are humans
of the finest sort.
There is not one
of their thoughts
I can show you -
not one of their philosophies
which may apply...
Hear them and wonder
Charity is good
for men's souls.
Faith can move
But love -
Love can spin
Lessons Learned in a Big Ol' Dress Iris stepped out onto the stone balcony, the one she’d dreamed up for this moment. With a sigh, she ran her silk-gloved hands along the ivory railing and looked out across the moonlit grounds, her colossal dress trailing out behind her. This was it. The stage was set, she knew her lines. This was her moment.Lessons Learned in a Big Ol' Dress1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
But it just didn’t feel right.
For the life of her she didn’t know why. After all, it was she who’d dreamed up this world in the first place, she who’d created its vast landscapes, the bustling cities beyond them, and the people that existed in and in between. This was her story, her dream world! So why did she feel so gosh darn unhappy?
For the billionth time that evening, Iris thought of the friends she’d made here these last few weeks. She thought of the Twixt brothers, expert thieves and incessant quarrelers, they’d charmed the socks off of her as easily as they could’
powerless, and reaching."He's the kind of personpowerless, and reaching.4 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
who tells me to 'cheer up'
when I'm depressed,"
he says, scoffing,
and I shake my head
"What a useless comment."
He chuckles, agrees,
but I keep thinking about
about all the "cheer up"s
and "just be happy"s
he's heard in his life.
I want to say "cheer up,"
I want my words to magically
cure him, heal him,
crush his depression
in a way that no pills ever could,
but I know it doesn't work like that.
Happiness is not an item
to be obtained with quarters
it is not a country to travel to
in airplanes and sailboats.
Happiness is a change in the wind,
a flicker from east to west
that cannot be upheld permanently.
For him, it is a road
blocked by people who roll their eyes
and tell him to get over himself.
When I wrap my arms around him,
he laughs again,
sinks into my body.
I think about hollow rooms,
sound echoing off the walls.
intimate thunder in this microcosmicintimate thunder1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
corner I have stolen
your alcohol & I am
missing the color
you made the world turn
Red as rosesRed as rosesRed as roses2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A delicate dance
Some subtle shift
A gentle drift
as fingers fumble
No single cause
No hidden clause
they ‘re in love
As souls merge
Through darkest day
They never part way
past death’s door
in heaven above
God bless true love